


Drabbles, Prompts, and Ficlets

by p1013



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets, drabbles, and prompts I've posted on my <a href="http://p1013.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> for easy reference. Ratings and pairings will be specified in the chapter notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Derek/Stiles - G

Stiles has to say, sex with Derek is pretty high up on his list of “Things I Like Love About Derek Hale,” but it isn’t his favorite part of their relationship. Don’t get him wrong, the sex is amazing. It’s spread fingers and arched backs and soft curses whispered against lips. It’s bodies moving against each other furiously, passion burning through them both until their panting and aching. It’s completion and destruction and rebuilding. It’s fucking amazing. Stiles wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But the truth is, his favorite part is the after. When his head is resting on Derek’s chest, Derek’s arm looped around his shoulders to pull him closer, and they’re just together. Derek likes to play connect the dots with Stiles’ freckles, and Stiles likes to listen to Derek’s steady heartbeat. They’re wrapped up in each other, and it’s Stiles’ favorite place to be.

Derek hums sometimes, just a quiet tune that Stiles feels vibrating through Derek’s chest. He has a surprisingly smoky baritone (there was one pack night where they sang karaoke, and Derek did a rather inspiring rendition of _Rolling in the Deep_ that Stiles may or may not have saved to his phone, he’ll never tell) that rumbles through his chest and into Stiles. It’s usually jazzy things - Dean Martin makes a frequent appearance - and slow songs, quiet things to sing in the night. But there’s always one that comes back, a slow song with some swing to it and gentle arpeggios that build the melody.

Stiles sneaks his phone into bed one night, then snuggles in and waits. Derek starts humming, and Stiles pulls up Shazam, watching the blue circle pulse in time with Derek’s singing. When the song pops up, Stiles raises an eyebrow and turns over.

“Really?”

The humming stops.

“What?”

“ _Can’t Take My Eyes Off You_?”

Derek blushes and tugs Stiles into his arms.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Stiles grins into Derek’s chest and snuggles closer, heart light, Derek’s voice lulling him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-slash Derek/Stiles - T

It’s been a long fucking day. When Stiles signed up for the S.W.A.T. team after working as a uni for a couple years, he hadn’t thought of the aches and pains that came with it. Both emotional and physical.

He’s used to the sore muscles and the bruises, but when things go bad - like they did today, goddammit - he’s left drained and exhausted and heartsick.

They’d managed to get the guys, a couple of bank robbers who’d taken a lobby full of New York residents hostage. They hadn’t been fast enough to stop them from shooting a civilian. Some buff guy with too much stubble and frown lines for days who’d decided to be a fucking hero.

Stiles drops his gear onto the floor by his door, then carefully unstraps his holster and sets it on the table where he usually leaves his mail. He locks the door, then slumps down on the couch and starts pulling his boots off.

He’s got the TV going, legs splayed out on the coffee table, finally starting to relax, when his phone goes off.

“Stilinski.” He answers, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice.

“Hey, it’s McCall. Just wanted to let you know the hostage made it. He’s in the ICU, looks like he’ll be okay.”

“That’s great. Why are you calling me about it now?” Stiles leans back further into the couch, closes his eyes.

“He’s asking for you.” McCall answers, sounding just as tired.

“Just tell him I was doing my job, and he can thank me by avoiding any more banks in the near future.”

McCall huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I don’t know how well that’ll go over, man. He’s a Fed.”

Stiles groans and rolls onto the side. He presses his face into his couch, knows that any chance he had at resting after his long ass fucking day is slipping through his grasp.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Special Agent Derek Hale. And he hasn’t shut up about the S.W.A.T. guy who saved his life. Captain Finstock’s starting to make a fuss about it, too.”

“Alright, alright.” Stiles groans. He feels like gravity has increased ten-fold as he pulls his tired body off of the couch. “I’m on my way.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/OFC - Derek/Stiles - T

Stiles doesn’t know this girl, not really. She’s in English with him, seems nice, is kind of quiet in a geeky way. All he knows is that she’s not Derek, is as far from Derek as a person can get, and right now, that’s all he wants.

The sex is awkward and fumbling. He’s had some experience, knows where things are in the theoretical sense, but putting all of it into practice with someone else who doesn’t know what they’re doing leads to a lot of uncomfortable laughter.

Still, it’s nice to lose your virginity, even if it’s not with the person you were hoping for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles - pre-slash - G
> 
> This will be expanded into a full story, and I will be removing this chapter when it's published.

“And joining us tonight on the high trapeze,” Peter shouts into the microphone, turning in a graceful arc to point up as the lights flare, “is the amazing Flying Stilinskis!”

There’s a roar of applause, and the lights are bright, catching the glinting sequins coating Stiles’ and his father’s leotards. They’re on opposite ends of the main ring, about fifty feet off the ground, and the net’s been pulled back. This is their first night on the road, and they’re feeling a little cocky.

Still, when Stiles grabs onto the bar and flies out over the barren ground below, part of his stomach drops, just for a second, before settling into the careful routine.

His father comes flying across the ring, grabbing onto Stiles’ arms above the wrist. There’s a second where they slide, skin on skin, but Stiles is strong enough to catch and support his father’s weight before flinging him off into a complicated pattern of flips.

The crowd goes wild.

—-

Derek’s out back after the show, feeding the tiger and the two wolves. The raw meat steams in the cold night air, and he thinks the animals enjoy the bit of preparation that went into their dinner.

“I’d try a sprig of parsley, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it.” He says, smiling as the predators gorge themselves.

“You should try that kind of shit in the ring,” a voice says from the darkness between the tents.

“You’d kill.”

“Stiles.” Derek sighs, then turns after wiping his hands on a stained and battered towel.

“Hey yourself. You see the show tonight?” Stiles is grinning, a baggy sweatshirt hiding the careful definition of his chest and arms.

“No,” Derek says, lying.

He’d been standing in the wings, watching the whole thing with bated breath. There’s something about the sight of Stiles in skin-tight anything, even a bright, spangly blue leotard and tights, that does something for him. But watching him fly out over nothing, knowing the risks and the dangers, even with all the training and skill the Stilinskis’ possess, leaves Derek shaken after every show.

Stiles seems to deflate, his shoulders hunching. He stuffs his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, looking down and away.

“Well,” he shrugs, “maybe next time, then?”

Derek nods.

“Maybe next time.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles - T

Stiles wakes up slowly. Sun is spilling in from his window, too bright and straight across his face. He groans and rolls over onto his stomach, presses his face into the coolness of his pillow. The sheets are tangled around his legs, too warm and tight. He reaches his arms above his head, stretching his body into a long, graceful arc. He moans, then flips back over, kicking the sheets down his body.

He opens his eyes, blinking against the light, and turns his head to look to the other side of the bed. It’s empty, the sheets cool to the touch. They’re pushed down to the foot of the bed. There’s a scent, still lingering, that rises when he runs his hands over the fabric, something musky and damp, like the forest floor in the early evening. He rolls onto his side, traces his fingers over the wrinkles and dips, breathes in deep to pull the scent into his lungs.

He lies there for a long moment, trying to remember the feel of warm skin and wet lips and rough stubble against his face. He runs a hand over his bare stomach, fingertips tracing the delicate rise and fall of his muscles. It tickles, and Stiles feels a shiver race through his body, remembered passion making his pulse race and his blood heat.

He rolls back, staring at the ceiling, fist clenched and lying on the empty mattress, and he wonders what in the hell he’s doing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles - E

Stiles pushes Derek back, slamming him into the bathroom door for an instant before it’s swinging open. Stiles’ mouth is a wet heat pressed against Derek’s throat, teeth stinging pulses of light where they nip against his skin. Derek feels like he’s on fire, burning embers where Stiles’ lips meet his. He buries his hands in Stiles, hair, pulls him up for a bruising kiss as they fall into an empty stall near the back.

“Should’ve said something,” Stiles pants against Derek’s lips. “Anything. A look. I’ve wanted this…”

Derek shuts Stiles up with his mouth, pressing his tongue against the seam of Stiles’ lips and invading. It’s all warmth and the sour tang of alcohol and the sugar-sweetness of Stiles himself, and Derek groans, pulls Stiles in, lets himself drown.

He stumbles against the cold porcelain of the toilet, then loses his footing until his back is pressed against the walls, legs splayed. Stiles chases after him, hands and lips pressed against Derek’s. Stiles falls to his knees, slides his hands beneath Derek’s shirt, and rakes his nails down the planes of Derek’s abs.

“Stiles,” Derek pants, throwing his head back against the wall so hard it stings.

Stiles presses an open-mouthed kiss against Derek’s skin, his tongue tracing the rise and fall of his abs. He lets it dip into Derek’s belly button, and Derek feels it like a lance through him. Stiles pulls back, grinning, and Derek does’t know if he wants to kiss him or tell him to fuck off.

Stiles leans back in, follows the dark trail of hair leading from Derek’s stomach underneath the edge of his jeans. Derek groans, flattens his hands on the cold tile wall, and tries to breathe.

“Tell me what you want,” Stiles says, the words brushing against the fly of Derek’s jeans.

“You know what I want,” Derek pants, letting his head rest against the wall, eyes locked on Stiles’ dark hair below him.

“I want to hear you say it,” Stiles says. He bites at the hard curve of Derek’s hip, then runs his tongue over the bone.

“Your mouth,” Derek says, hands fisting, “I want your mouth-“

Stiles is fumbling with Derek’s button fly before he can finish, fingers warm and unsteady. And then his mouth is warm and open over Derek’s cock, and Derek can’t say anything but a stuttered plea that sounds like Stiles’ name.


	7. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malia POV

It doesn’t bother her when it’s rabbits or squirrels. Raccoons, possums. Deer make her cringe a bit because she knows it’s not quick, that they drag themselves into the woods to die, screaming.

Now that she’s driving, Malia tries to be careful, tries to keep her eyes on the road and the woods edging it. But it’s late and dark, and she’s tired and muzzy, senses dulled as a human, and all she sees is a flash of bright fur, and there’s nothing she can do.

There’s a thump and a sharp growling cry, and nothing. She pulls the car onto the side of the road, hands shaking (though she’ll never admit it). About 15 feet back from the car is a crumpled form, flashing in and out with the red light of the emergency blinkers. There’s thick, wet blood on the ground, and when she listens for a heartbeat there’s nothing.

She cries on her knees by the side of the road, the coyote's body cradled in her lap.

 _Change me back_ , she thinks.


End file.
